His Games, Her Rules

I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter

Dancing through the fire

‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar

With my earbuds plugged into my ears, I sing along to Katy Perry Roar. I might be a bad singer, and maybe bad at every other social thing, but I just can’t ignore Katy Perry’s Roar each time I play it or hear it. It’s my ringtone. I listen to it every morning before I get ready to come to work. It’s a motivation for me. Listening to this beautiful song. It reminds me every time I listen to it that I am no longer the woman from years ago. I’m no longer the quiet girl her parents can just toss around. They’ve pushed me past my breaking point and made me realize I’ve got a choice. So here I am in New York working in this amazing hospital as a practical Nurse and I’ve never been happier.

I sing along, loudly to be precise, as I use the thermometer as my microphone. I dance around in this small room without a care in this world. Some people may call me weird, mostly my female colleagues because they have a thing or two against me, but this is me being my best self. They don’t know what I’ve been through.

“Robyn?” A loud voice makes me stop singing as I spin around at once, startled.

“Shit.” I curse under my breath, quickly taking out my earbuds from my ears as I stare at this strange man in a doctor’s coat. I’ve never seen him before.

He looks at me from my head to my toes as he gives me a quick once over.

What the hell is his problem?

“I’ve never heard anyone sing with so much energy.” The strange man says, giving me another once over. I smile in response.

It’s rare to receive positive compliments about my voice. I know I’m a terrible singer, I just hate to be reminded.

“Thanks,” I say to Mr. Stranger in a doctor’s coat.

“It’s not a compliment, Robyn. I mean you’re a bad singer.” He says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Oh,” I mutter. Yeah, well, fuck you, motherfucker.

I’ve heard so much negative feedback about my singing and they all hurt. Every one of them.

“Yes. And I don’t mean it in a wrong way, I just mean your singing gives me a headache. I’ve been standing here for over 12 minutes as I watched your bad performance.”

Wow. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got the mayor of Doucheville.

“Right. I may not be good at singing, but trust me I’m good at other things…” I say, with my arms crossed.

Mr stranger raises his eyebrows in confusion, then he slowly smirks as he looks me in the eye.

Ew, gross. You fucking perv.

“It’s not the things you’re already imagining. I mean… I’m pretty good at other stuff. Stuff that has to do with my job. Not everyone has perfect voices.” I pause and stare at this stranger. “You know what I’m talking about, right?” I ask, with my arms still crossed. He gives me a weird look.

Fuck, he doesn’t know.

I clear my throat. “Sorry, um… who are you? What are you doing here?” I ask, taking my time to stare at the man in front of me.

He has short blonde hair and green eyes, he’s pretty tall and well built, and he looks to be in his early thirties. He looks fine. Like, damn fine. I would have tapped that if he didn’t have a loose mouth.

“I’m Doctor Richard Sanders. But you can call me Doctor Sanders.” He says.

Doctor? Interesting.

“Oh. I’m Robyn. Robyn Denver. I’m a practical nurse here.”

“Yeah, I know you. I called your name like three times while I watched your sad performance.” He says as he stares at me.

What the hell is his problem?

“You’re pretty popular around here. The clumsy nurse.”

“I’m not clumsy,” I mutter.

“Right.” He mutters, arrogance laced in his tone. “Well, I’ll be taking over from Doctor Ricci, so you’re working under me from now henceforth.”

“What happened to Doctor Ricci?”

“Oh, he got transferred. I’m in charge now.”

“And he’s left?”

“Are you two dating?” Dr. Sanders asks, his gaze scrutinizing. I try not to roll my eyes. Over my dead body will I date that dog. Also, relationships are the last thing I want right now.

“No! What?” I scoff and drop the thermometer on a tray. “Do you need assistance?”

“Yes, I do. I need you to take a patient’s blood sample for me and please be careful when you do that. Doctor Ricci told me about your work here. When I asked for a nurse who could help me with a nutcase patient, he recommended you. He said and I quote, ‘If you’re looking for the best nurse for this job, you should find Robyn. She should be in one of these little wards singing into a thermometer and dancing like a psycho. She’s good at handling insane patients.’ Hilarious, isn’t it?”

What? I’ve always rooted for Doctor Ricci. He was my favorite Doctor in this hospital for a while until he fucked things up. He was pretty hot, and I knew for a fact he was a man slut, but he was great. He was good-looking and attractive, almost all the female nurses and a few doctors found him insanely attractive. He was cherished by everyone, including the president of this hospital. But behind the charisma and the admiration lies an arrogant pervert.

I can’t believe he would say such things about me to people all because I didn’t let him have his way with me.

Fucking disgusting.

I cross my arms and glare at Sanders. “He said that?”

“He sure did. Come on, the patient’s blood is waiting.” Sanders says as he turns to leave the room.

I follow him.

“Also, you can’t address stubborn patients as nutcases or insane. It’s inappropriate. This isn’t a penitentiary. This is a hospital.” I say to Sanders.

“Stop talking, Rob.” He says.

“Um… hold on. The name is Robyn. Only my close friends call me Rob. You’re not there yet, okay? We’re not even friends. And I really hate it when people call me Rob. It’s Robyn, not Rob or Robbie.” I say.

Doctor Sanders stops walking to stare at me. I cross my arms and look up at him. He’s pretty tall. Probably 6’3 inches tall.

“Okay, Robyn.”

“Thank you.” I flash him a fake smile.

As I assist Sanders with the blood sample I took earlier, I hum to Katy Perry’s Roar. It’s like a stress-free song. Each time I’m stressed, I find myself humming to Roar. Doctor Sanders isn’t all that bad. He’s like Doctor Ricci, the difference is that Doctor Sanders doesn’t flirt like Ricci. Which is nice. When Doctor Ricci still worked here, he would constantly flirt with the nurses and residents, and oftentimes he would touch them inappropriately. I fucking despised him. The only good quality about him is that he was a good doctor. A surgeon, actually, and everyone adored him to the point they turned a blind eye to every one of his filthy habits.

In the few hours I’ve worked with Doctor Sanders today, he was always quiet. We barely had any discussion or conversation. And I liked that for a change. Doctor Ricci was arrogant and he talked a lot to the point he always talked out of point.

“Robyn, can you stop?” Doctor Sanders asks.

“What?”

“Can you please stop humming to that song and tapping your feet on the floor like an old person? That’s not attractive at all.” Okay, who cares?

“I hum to Roar when I’m stressed.” I say.

Doctor Sanders sighs as he rubs his temple. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing this past hour, annoying the shit out of Doctor Sanders. I’m sure he’s thinking about resigning already.

“Are you okay?” I ask, with mockery in my tone.

“Please, stop humming. I can’t concentrate on that loud annoying humming. It’s like the whistling of a kettle.” He says, with his extra, heavy Scottish accent.

I roll my eyes.

“Sure thing, Sandals.” I mutter, purposefully calling him sandals.

“Sanders.” He corrects my wrong pronunciation of his name. “It’s Doctor Sanders for you. Not Sanders.”

“Okay. Doctor Sandals.” I say with a sly smirk. I’m never calling him Doctor Sanders anytime soon.

Doctor Sanders groans as he shakes his head and goes back to work. He’s quitting tomorrow. I can tell already.